It's Raining
by qhi
Summary: When Raine York appears on the doorstep of 221B everything will change for Sherlock and John, why was she there? What was she running from? And what is the massive secret she is hiding? Rated T for safety for the future. Please Review!
1. Raine and Rain

Chapter One - Raine and Rain.

Raine was in trouble, and to make matters worse she had nowhere to go and, ironically, it was raining. Normally she loved the rain but right now she couldn't hate it more if she tried. She had nowhere left to go, except to him. So she did. She found herself on the doorstep of 221b Baker Street, the sky was dark and still raining, if they were any street lights then they were broken, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, had let her in and she knocked on the door to the flat before opening it and crossing the threshold. There she found her favourite detective sprawled across the sofa, eyes closed, clearly bored. Eyes still tightly shut his forehead creased in confusion, trying to fathom who had just walked through his door. Unable to come up with a conclusion he opened his eyes and found to his horror Raine standing next to the sofa, her messy blonde curls damp from the rain and her skin paler than ever. He stood up, the line between his eyebrows reappearing.

"Why are you here?" He asked bluntly, as per usual.

"I have nowhere else to go," she replied with a tone to rival even his at saying 'isn't it obvious'.

"Oh, okay," he said sitting down again, "there's another room upstairs, just ask Mrs Hudson for the key."

And just like that, Raine had found home in the most unlikely of places.


	2. Sister?

Chapter Two - Sister?

Her room was small, but equipped with a bed, table, chair and wardrobe, she couldn't be more happy. All she had was her handbag as her departure hadn't been planned. She dumped it on her bed and decided that she should probably shower. After her shower she realised that she had nothing clean to wear, so she put her underwear back on and stuck her head around the door and shouted, "Sherlock, you don't happen to have an old t-shirt I could borrow do you?" She made a mental note to go shopping tomorrow, at least she'd bought her credit card.

"John does." And a confused splutter, obviously from John, was all that came back.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Raine wrapped a towel around herself and made her way into the living room to find out who the mysterious John with t-shirts was.

Apparently John was the flatmate Sherlock 'forgot' to mention he had. He was tall, but short in comparison to Sherlock, with short, neat blond hair, approximately 30, recently been sent home from the army in Afghanistan were he served as a doctor. Raine deduced with one look up and one down at John, "Hi," she said to John who appeared to have gone temporarily mute, "I'm Raine, Sherlock," she sent a glare in his direction, "didn't tell me he had a flatmate." John stayed silent and just stared, "Okay, um, well, I've only just met you but apparently you have t-shirts, would you mind if I borrowed one?" John, who had finally found his voice, muttered, "umm, sure, this way," and with that he took off up the stairs and Raine, with one last withering glance to a highly amused Sherlock, followed suit.

Garbed in an enormous t-shirt that almost fell to her knees Raine was comfortably nestled in a squishy armchair, questioning and being questioned by John and occasionally Sherlock. "Okay," decided Raine, "I don't know you and you don't know me and we're now living together so I think we should ask questions, to, you know, get to know each other a bit, you go first."

John looked slightly shocked but complied without protest, "Erm, okay, full name?"

"Raine Quinn York, yours?"

"John Harold Watson, siblings?"

"Two sisters, one older one younger, next."

"…it's your turn to ask me,"

"Yeah, but I already knew the answer so that would have been a waste of time," from the other armchair Sherlock smirked evilly.

"But, how? Oh God, please don't tell me you're like him, I can't live with two of you, errrgh!" Sherlock bust into fits of laughter and Raine giggled,

"Guilty," was all she could manage to say. Once Sherlock had managed to compose himself John spoke again,

"Go on then,"

"Well, you have one sibling, a sister called Harry, well Harriet but whatever, she's a couple of years older than you, you don't get on well but she wants to, you have other ideas as you don't approve of her recent behaviour or her drinking," when Raine said sister a half annoyed and have awestruck look flashed across Sherlock's face.

"Let me guess, phone right?" John said wisely spying it laying face down on the coffee table.

"You go it!" Said Raine with a smile.

"What…but how…how…that's not…sister?" Spluttered Sherlock. An evil grin spread across Raine's face,

"Does he look like he has an older brother to you?" As a natural reaction Sherlock looked at John and his face fell, "Damn, you're right." Meanwhile, it was John's turn to laugh and he was doing it side-splittingly so.


	3. Purely a Social Call

Chapter Three - Purely a Social Call.

Over the next couple of days Raine and John became close friends and felt as if they'd known each other for years, it was a friendship made in heaven. On the fifth day of Raine's arriving a morning surprise was waiting for them when they woke, well metaphorically of course, John was the only one of the three who slept; Sherlock had better things to do and Raine suffered from raging insomnia, although she had Sherlock's mindset about sleep so didn't call it suffering and was absolutely aghast when John asked if she wanted help to cure it. It was 5:30 in the morning and John was woken by the cats chorus radiating from the living room. Sherlock was scraping away stubbornly on his beloved violin whilst Raine was strumming defiantly on her guitar, both were playing completely different tunes which clashed horrifically and were trying to drown the other out, to stubborn to play the same thing. This could only mean one thing, John thought gloomily, they were bored. Whilst Sherlock played his violin when he was thinking Raine played her guitar when she was trying not to think and from the volume of the 'music' it seemed both were furious at the world for being so mind-numbingly dull.

John wearily climbed out of his bed and trundled downstairs to try and quash the noise and argument behind it. However, before John reached the bottom of the stairs someone arrived at 221B and the caterwauling stopped, as if turned off by a flick of a switch. Still sleepy John couldn't work out what was being said but he knew the only person who would call at such an ungodly hour was DI Lestrade. As he stumbled into the living room he was proven to be correct in his assumption. This was the first time Lestrade had met Raine and the shock on his face when he saw the nineteen year old, blonde curls that hadn't been brushed for so long they resembled a lion's mane and navy blue eyes which changed colour according to her mood. She was clad only in pale blue checkered shorts and a maroon vest top - pyjamas, although she never slept she still wore them, and they made her ghostly skin look like chalk, in a good way of course. Upon seeing Lestrade she gently laid her guitar to one side and stood up to greet him. His jaw clamped shut once more he shook her hand and introduced himself,

"DI Lestrade," was all he could choke out,

"Raine York and I know who you are." Raine stated confidently.

"What! How? Sherlock talks about me? Ha! Unlikely!" He said, more to himself than anyone else, "Oh, unless, are you, you know, like him?" He added in a whisper. Raine smiled and nodded giggling in her head.

"You know I can hear you Lestrade. Now, what have you got for me or is this purely a social visit?" Sherlock added, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

"Surprisingly, the latter. I'm on call and my wife is away and I know of no one else in this city who's awake at this time and actually willing to do anything, but I'm surprised you didn't work that out - from the way I tied my shoelaces or something!" Sherlock was very angry by this last statement and it didn't help when Raine added slyly,

"I did." He turned around and gave her a death glare that could rival her own. She raised an eyebrow completely unphased. Lestrade looked round at her with a small smile creeping onto his lips,

"Dare I ask how?"

"You had it already, your shoelaces. They're tied in knots not bows so clearly you can't tie bows and your wife would never let you out like that so she would normally tie them, so your wife's away. This is a 'social call' - as Sherlock so nicely put it as the world is being so infuriatingly tedious it couldn't be anything else and if, by some miracle, something exciting had happened then I would already know about it, I'm well connected." She added upon seeing the shocked expressions on the three mens' faces. Sherlock's cleared first,

"Ah yes, Mycroft." He said smoothly.

"Is just the beginning," Raine replied.

"Wait, you know his brother?" Exclaimed a nervous looking John, "Does that mean that you work for MI6!"

"You could say I know Mycroft, and yes I used to work for MI6, but no Sherlock, Mycroft does not give me information, honestly, why would you even think that? I have far bigger fish to fry." She added smugly.

"You, you worked for MI6! But you're only…how old are you? And 'bigger fish to fry than Mycroft! Wow!" Lestrade stumbled, though clearly impressed. Raine flashed him her infamous devious smile,

"I'm nineteen." Lestrade's jaw hit the ground. Sherlock rolled his eyes, he could have done that if he'd been interested, and by all means he still could, he may be eight years ahead but that mattered little.

"I never asked why you came here, I'm guessing not working for MI6 had something to do with this?" John voiced his thoughts to the room but they were directed at Raine.

"Yes partly." Was all John got in reply, Raine did not want to talk about her past and so she didn't. Know one knew, not even the great deducing machine that was Sherlock Holmes, she had built a wall around herself and liked to think she was now an impregnable fortress so to speak, no one could read her and she liked it that way. She could read everyone and everything and living like this made her feel protected. She never let anyone in, ever, although Sherlock and John were coming dangerously close in the short time they'd lived together. However, during the construction of said fortress, her conscience had been built out, separated from her heart, soul and mind by several strong, thick walls. The tone in which Raine made her statement clearly said, end of conversation, if you ask anymore questions then I _will kill you. _

_The small clock on the mantel now read 6:00 and Raine took off up the stairs to shower and change and by 6:40 she had reappeared, wearing tight skinny jeans, a white vest top and a cropped black leather jacket. She accessorised this with black flats, gold jewellery, black make-up and sunglasses. _

"_Just let me grab a coffee and then we can go." Raine told a nervous looking Lestrade who'd just opened his mouth to say something, "Yes, I know something's just come up, but I haven't checked what yet. Sense that jacket." She added patronisingly._


	4. A Trip Down Memory Lane

**Chapter 4 - A Trip Down Memory Lane. **

After downing a black coffee in one Raine followed the others, who had already made their way to the stairs, Lestrade and John trying to restrain Sherlock, who was practically bouncing in excitement.

"Are you all right?" Asked Lestrade, clearly concerned at the grimace on Raine's face.

"Yep, fine, all's good, just can't _stand_ black coffee . It's aftertaste is gross, actually even just it's taste is vile, but it wakes up any sleepy brain cells, and fast. Always a good thing!" And with that she bounced after Sherlock, who had freed himself from John and was already at the door.

Once inside a cab Raine turned to the others, "So, what've we got?"

It was Lestrade who replied seeing as Sherlock seemed to be so excited that he'd forgotten how to speak, "Attempted suicide, apparently, but even Sergeant Donovan admits it's fishy and we should probably get him in," he jerked his thumb towards Sherlock.

"Not Anderson though?" John joked.

"No, I think you're fighting a lost battle there John."

"I just can't wait to meet this Anderson bloke, he sounds like a real charmer!"

The cab pulled into Memory Lane and dropped the four off at the police tape where Sally was waiting, looking exhausted and yawing. "Morning DI, John, Freak and, erm, who are you?"

"Raine York, nice to meet you Sally. I know we've only just met but a word of advice, get yourself out, he'll never leave her." Raine said the last bit with the utmost empathy and caring in her voice, so much so that Sally didn't even make a comment on how she could read minds too, another freak!

The four of them made their way into the terrace house, it felt oddly familiar to Raine and this unsettled her, although her expression showed none of that. Lestrade and John put on blue boiler suits, no one even tried to offer Sherlock one and when Lestrade turned to Raine and held one out she sent him a look so scathing that her practically withered before her eyes and dropped the suit immediately. The feeling of déjà vu followed Raine up the next three flights of stairs and down the third floor corridor. She entered the room under investigation and looked around. She had found it. A picture, about two, three, years old of her and her closest friends. It was all coming back to her now. Her best friend, Ava Winter, had moved to this house around four years ago, when she was sixteen and Raine was fifteen, she had shown Raine pictures although she had never visited in person. Then, just as the door opened and the others entered, the whirring cogs in her brilliant mind stopped and she ran straight thought the blocked doorway knocking all three men to the ground and tore down the stairs. She remembered seeing an ambulance on the way in and her memory proved correct, she slammed out the door, John now hot on her heals, the others were more interested in the crime scene and, had she been thinking, she wouldn't have thought that Sherlock had even noticed her dramatic departure or her tear-stained face - although, to be fair, she hadn't noticed the tears running thick and fast down her porcelain checks.

Raine leapt forcefully into the ambulance, without even attempting to ask, and came to a sudden halt. John would have crashed into her had he not been stopped by the swarming paramedics, who had closed in around him like bees to honey. Her eyes fell on her best friend, wrapped in blankets and strapped onto a trolley. Had Raine been in her normal state of awareness she would have realised that Ava had been resuscitated twice already, though she was now stable and unlikely to move from that demeana again.

"Ava?" Whispered Raine. Ava's eyes opened and when she saw her best friend a small smile blossomed on her bluing lips. That was all it took. Raine knew she was safe and she knew this wasn't suicide. The girl who she'd known since she was eleven, lying before her, would never do that. Raine knew her better than anyone else in the world, and vice versa, this was attempted murder. Eyes suddenly empty of tears and full of anger and revenge.

"I'm going to find whoever did this to you." She told Ava and then took off again, unhearing to Ava's protests, a rage burning in her heart, working its way to becoming a full blown storm, only to be stopped by John's outstretched arms. Her caught her and hugged her tight. She didn't try to resist and he knew not to hold her for long.

"Thank you," murmured Raine, low enough so only John could hear. He smiled to himself. For her, this was the highest praise, she trusted him.

Meanwhile, amongst piles of what, in the best sense would be called 'stuff' and the worst crap, Sherlock and his mind were whizzing. Simultaneously concluding that this was indeed attempted, and nearly completed, murder and that the victim was a friend, or someone very close, to Raine. To say she appeared to be upset was a massive understatement, she was distraught and this concerned him, deeply. So deeply in fact that he had shocked himself into submission and his brain had frozen. He was completely unaware that he could feel worry or anxiety for himself let alone someone else, and at this level? He was snapped out of his revere by the scuffle occurring in the hallway, Raine was back. Apparently the police had noticed the connection too - first time for everything, eh? - and were refusing her to re-enter. What Sherlock did next surprised himself and all around him more than anything else ever had. He calmly walked up to the struggling girl and encased her in his arms, trying to comfort her and make her see sense. He thought that seemed like a good idea as people were always trying to see it, although he never had or ever wanted to.

"Shhh, it's okay, everything will be okay," he whispered in her ear. Then he saw them, the shocked and 'aww isn't that sweet' looks on the faces around him and he felt the colour rise in his cheeks. Sherlock Holmes did _not blush and he wasn't going to start now. He had to get out of there. So he buried his face in Raine's curls and crept towards the stairs, moving Raine too in his bid for freedom. At the top of the stairs he dropped Raine and flew down and out the door. Raine, before she could be swamped by the police again, had enough sense returned to her brain to do the same._


	5. When Life Gives You Lemons

A/N: sorry I haven't updated in so long. Been a very busy term and been busy most weekends so this wasn't at the top of the 'to do' list. This chapters a bit different as we get a sense of what it's like inside Raine's head. Enjoy! –and please review

Chapter 5 – When life gives you lemons…

Raine POV

It's a well known phrase, 'when life gives you lemons', if you were to say this to someone, depending on who they were you would get back different answers. If they were old or simply just dull, boring, depressive, unimaginative, safe, or well, simply as dumb as, well … shit, they would reply 'make lemonade'. If they were crazy and were always making you laugh in the most inappropriate situations, they may say 'squirt them in people's eyes!' That's what one of Raine's friends, Demetria Hannah Griffiths – or Ria, as she was known, would have said. Ivanna Xylia Donnelly – or Ivvy, would have said 'bung them in a canon and fire them right back!' Whereas Ava always went with 'stuff them down your bra, can't hurt, can it!' she had always been the least, cough, cough, 'curvy' of us. However, I have always stuck by the mantra 'When life gives you lemons, make lemoncellos!' i.e. get completely and utterly smashed… and that's exactly what I did. And that is why I am currently wearing an oversized grey tee, raspberry thigh highs (socks to the idiots who don't know, or have just had their head in a heard of metaphorical clouds their INTIRE lives) and not much else obviously I'm wearing underwear, navy in case you wanted to know, and am lying on the sofa with my legs hanging over the arm rest. Did I say lying on the sofa? Sorry, I meant laying on John, who was laying on the sofa, and for all you sick minded fools it tell you to get your mind out the gutter, I sat on the armrest and must have dropped off and fallen backwards. John on the other hand was unable to hold his drink and had passed out after throwing up, luckily in the loo, but not before I made him bleach it. He now has a greyish streak through his hair; apparently he forgot he was handling bleach!

Sherlock is already up and making tea. Most people would think that Sherlock would be a kill joy when it comes to partying, they couldn't be more wrong, turns out he's a bit of a party animal, snigger snigger! He handed me a mug or the stuff neat, or black to all you boring people and I picked up a half drunk bottle of white wine and threw in a slug, mmmm, deliceux. However as I don't have an asbestos mouth I set it down on the floor so it could cool a bit and surveyed the room from my horizontal position. First of all I focused on Sherlock; he was wearing sweats which I suspected were John's and, well, that's it. I had, eh-hum, accidently set fire to the dark purple shirt he was wearing, no not while he was wearing it, he'd taken it off before the cuff had even caught properly, delinquent at heart I am! But honestly you could hardly blame me, I'd had a vendetta against purple all my life, I hate the darn colour! I don't care if it's from Louis Vuitton's new range, it's fugly and that's that. Its blacked carcass lay discard by the door. There were several empty bottles of vodka, wine, amoretto, sherry and whatever other alcoholic drinks we could find; upon further inspection we had found a bottle of rum in John's room. I now fully suspect that he believes he's a pirate and once he passed out I drew a curly mustache on him in sharpie, but that ran out so I used eye liner for the eye patch. Nothing was broken or damaged, the shirt doesn't count, it's purple for crying out loud, oh, wait, I stand correct, it WAS purple, la di da, oh happy days! There was a knock at the door which made Sherlock's make-shift darts (kitchens knives) fall out of the make-shift darts board (a stick man labeled ANDERSON 3. This made me fall into one of this uncontrollable giggling fits, which I'm prone to. Sherlock being Sherlock didn't respond but the combination of the knock at the door and the clatter of knives had woken him and he groggily stood up, pushing me onto the sofa. Oh god, he was hilarious hung over! This made me giggle even harder, so much so I rolled over and buried my face into the union jack cushion I had stolen from Sherlock's chair and claimed as my own the previous day. John just looked at me and sighed, but it's got to be humanly impossible to not laugh at a hung over pirate. As proven when Sherlock wondered in and snorted, rather unattractively might I add, in to his tea.

John ignored him and opened the door, apparently they had a case for Sherlock and John invited them in, apologizing for the mess, well, that's what I thought anyway as I only heard john speaking by I was certain I was right. They came in and began to explain to Sherlock I wasn't listening but I could still hear a distinctly northern accent, oh faberoo! A jordy, my favourite. But to be fair I did still have my head in the cushion. Then Sherlock spoke and the two men, yes I could tell they were men from the way their footsteps sounded and the voice I could hear. Talked some more, it wasn't until Sherlock asked of the location of the incident in question and the other one, in a heavy Irish accent, replied,' Surrey Hills' that I was remotely interested. Upon the leprechaun saying this my head snapped around and I sat up in a split second and the sight which met my eyes was one I never thought I'd see. The first of the two men, the jordy, was tall suspiciously, as I used to say, and his brown hair was beginning to grey, I would place him at 38/9. The other man was shorter and stockier with thicker black hair and didn't look a day over 30. My brain had processed before they'd turned around. Yes, I knew these two men, they had both been teachers at my old school and they knew me well. As I registered their surprised faces I felt my own split into what my friends called my 'scheming smile' which I was fully aware made my ears move upwards, thank you very much so no need to inform me.

'Raine!' the taller one said.

Shizer! I thought.


End file.
